easily enough for both of them.
‘Why do you write so many letters, Julia?’ Alfred had once inquired. ‘I would as soon kill a pig as write a letter. You write to your sisters every day. Do they reciprocate? I can’t believe they do.’
‘I write to my sisters because they are beautiful; ever since our childhood, I felt I owed it to them.’ ‘Nonsense,’ said Alfred. Emily had intervened at this point.
‘All Alfred’s family are mad or morbid, or morbidly mad; isn’t that right, Alfred?’
‘Barking, the lot of them,’ boomed her lord. ‘That’s why we lost our inheritance, and I’m so beastly poor.’
Nobody said anything. Tennyson’s belief in his own crushing poverty was a sacrosanct delusion. ‘So we feel it better to remove ourselves as much as possible,’ continued Emily sweetly. ‘For the boys’ sake.’
Alfred had a thought.
‘Did you check the boys for signs of madness this morning
Emily?’
‘I did, my dear.’
‘Any signs of black blood at all? Gloom, or anything?’
‘None, dear. Nobody’s mad in our house. As I will never tire of saying.’
‘Well, you’re not mad, Emily.’
‘I never said I was.’
There was a pause.
‘Will you pose for me, Alfred?’ asked Julia.
‘No, I won’t,’ he replied.
Just then, Mary Ryan knocked and came in. Mary Ann tried to put down her knitting, but unfortunately she was more tangled up in it than ever. When she let go of it, it still hung in the air in front of her face.
‘Mrs Tennyson has sent back the Indian box, madam,’ said Mary Ryan. ‘She says she cannot accept it.’
Julia was astounded. ‘Cannot? But it’s a very beautiful box. I felt sure she would treasure it.’
‘There is a letter, too.’
Julia jumped to her feet, took the letter, and shooed Mary Ryan out of the room.
‘Do you know what this letter says, Mary Ann?’ she said at last, with passion in her voice.
Mary Ann said nothing.
‘It says that the box is too good for them. Well, I shall not give up. Too good, indeed.’ She continued to read.
‘Gracious!’ she exclaimed, and sat down. ‘Mrs Tennyson also informs me that C. L. Dodgson of Christ Church will be visiting Freshwater this week, that he may even have arrived already. Do you know what this means?’
Mary Ann looked blank. Admittedly, it was her forte. Shrugging mutely, she gave up the tussle with the knitting, and with a pair of shears, cut herself free.
‘What do it mean then, ma’am?’ she said at last.
‘It means that he will get Alfred’s photograph again, Mary! And why not? He’s got everybody else! The man has already photographed Faraday, Rossetti, he’s even got the Archbishop of Canterbury! So he’ll get my Alfred. How does he do it? He has no connections, no reputation, no sisters in useful houses, and his pictures are flat, small and boring, and have no Art.’
Julia paced. ‘I can’t bear to think of it. I wait here, day after day, week after week, year after year, hoping that Alfred will give me something, anything! He does not even come to see the roses! I would give anything! And now they are sending back my presents! Oh, Mary! If he would only pose for me, Mary –’ She sobbed and sat down. With the letter crumpled in her hand, she looked like a woman in a Victorian melodrama with sobering news from the landlord. ‘Oh Mary, if he would only pose for me!’
‘And how was your morning on the beach, my dear? Did you make any little child friends?’ asked Lorenzo, trimming his beard at a mirror.
Jessie took off her pink bonnet (pink! for a red-head!), plonked it on the Manchester Idiot, and burst out laughing.
‘What would I want with little child friends?’ she asked. ‘They’re all such sillies.’
‘As you like, dear,’ said Lorenzo. He was an easy-going chap. He had recently located the Organ of Human Nature, and discovered – by happy accident – that on his own head it was massive.
‘Well, except a girl called Daisy, she was all right, quite clever. Quite arresting to look at, and good fun. She said she could borrow some wings for me, if I wanted, but I can’t see the point. Perhaps I’ll ask her to tea. Her father is a clever man, but do you know, she’d never heard of phrenology or vegetarianism or the perfectibility of the human brain through the exercise of memory. So I told her, if he hasn’t taught you any of that, he obviously hasn’t taught you much.’
‘Not everyone’s as clever as you, Jessie. Actually, I sometimes think I’m not as clever as you. How old are you again?’
‘I’m eight.’
‘Good heavens.’
Jessie poured some tea, and handed it to him. ‘Would you like me to help you with your grooming, Pa? That’s your best suit, isn’t it? Where are we going?’
‘I must visit the hall I have booked for tonight. You remember the carter from Yarmouth?’ ‘Pa! It was only two days ago!’
‘Well, he has already told everyone arriving from the mainland that I’m here. Interest is growing. News travels fast. I may have to send to Ludgate Hill for more merchandise. You can return to the beach with Ada this afternoon.’
Jessie pouted. While Lorenzo went scouting the venue, the Infant Phrenologist would be left at home again, to re-read Hereditary Descent: its Laws and Facts Applied to Human Improvement, Familiar Lessons on Phrenology for the Use of Children in Schools and Families by Lydia F. Fowler (her mother). Jessie sighed. She hated it when Lorenzo left her alone with Ada. Ada was quiet and broody, and unnaturally sensitive to childish insult. Also, Jessie hadn’t even the consolation of other Victorian children, that if her father wasn’t at home, at least he would be indulging gross unnatural vices, such as smoking and drinking, or tightening himself in a lady’s corset.
‘Oh Papa, there was something I needed to tell you. Did you know the poet Albert Tennyson lives in Freshwater?’
‘I did.’ (Lorenzo did not correct her on the ‘Albert’. The tantrum could last for hours.)
‘I asked everybody on the beach what his head was like, but of course nobody knew how to describe it. They said he usually wears a hat! But apparently he’s got big puffs under his eyes, indicating the Organ of Language. Of course, I had to tell them about Language; they only knew about the eye-bags. Oh, and they also said, if you drop in at the house, don’t expect tea. Wasn’t that an odd thing to say? One of the boys, called Lionel – I think
